The Sword of 'Lorien
by Roisin Dubh
Summary: The tale of Haldir's daughter and the discovery of soul mates, separated by many ages of Man.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. All settings and characters belong to Tolkien except for Valariel, Runevalas, and Maranwe, who are mine. I've received no compensation for this. Please note: the Elvish language contained here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with their permission. The word "feahoon" is my own creation based on their language and is being used PENDING approval for addition to their lexicon. For more information, visit their website: www.grey-company .org.  
  
Rating: PG (romance and some violence)  
  
** ** ** ** **  
  
The Sword of 'Lorien  
  
Haldir knelt by the bed, stroking his mate's hair. She was dying. Alive when they found her, Runevalas was too far on her way to the Halls of Mandos to be called back. Seeing what the Orcs had done enraged Haldir nearly beyond reason. He'd returned to Lothlorien to find her dying despite the best efforts of Lord Celeborn to call her back. Haldir tried to reach her too, but to no avail. She could not bear the horror of what had happened to her at the hands of the Orcs.  
  
"I don't want you to go, A'maelamin my beloved, but you will not let us bring you back." The sadness in his voice weighed heavily on his words. Celeborn watched the Marchwarden of Lothlorien sadly. Normally proud and arrogant, it was rare for Haldir to reveal any vulnerability.  
  
"I killed them all, Runevalas," Haldir said softly. "They paid for what they did to you with their blood and their heads. At least take that knowledge with you to Mandos."  
  
She felt so cold, as if all the snows of the north filled her veins. She would be gone in moments. Runevalas had conquered him, healed him, at a time when Haldir had been convinced he would never love again. He was a warrior but her gentle touch and kind smile had brought a softness back to his life. And she'd brought to him one additional gift that he'd never expected… Suddenly, a sigh ran through the room as Runevalas' soul skimmed through the quiet of the Golden Wood. Haldir knew she was gone.   
  
The Elf looked at the floor and murmured an ancient prayer. Then he stood and squared his shoulders. He feared what was outside the room more than what he had found inside it. He opened the door and looked out. Tall and regal, the Lady Galadriel waited. Her expression was soft and thoughtful, and Haldir could feel the kindness and understanding of his sorrow that radiated out from her. Galadriel had felt Runevalas' soul flee its bonds and fly free.  
  
:You did all you could, Haldir. Your mate had a kind heart; she was not a warrior as you are.: The Lady's voice echoed in his head. His eyes met hers and there was only sorrow in them.  
  
Then he looked down at the girl with Galadriel. Valariel. His daughter. The greatest gift Runevalas had ever given him.   
  
To a human, Valariel looked to be a child of about seven, but she was already close to 300 years old. With the virtually eternal lifespan of Elves, she was still well within childhood. She wouldn't be considered an adult until she reached close to 1,000 years old and her deep brown eyes turned to the brilliant sapphire blue of the 'Lorien Elves.  
  
"Father?" She looked up at Haldir. "Where's Mother?"  
  
"Valariel," said Haldir, picking his daughter up in his arms, "your atara mother was hurt, and she has gone to the Halls of Mandos."  
  
Young as she was, Valariel knew what that meant. She started to tremble and curled closer to her father. Haldir wished he could do something – anything – to make his daughter feel better, to take the pain away. But even for an Elf, pain was part of life.  
  
Many lifetimes of Men passed outside the Golden Wood, all but unnoticed by the Elves. Valariel grew and the ache for her mother began to ease. Her father and her uncles, Rumil and Orophin, watched over her and taught her. Galadriel watched her, too, and Valariel loved the Lady of the Wood.   
  
One day, a stir rippled through the 'Lorien wood. Strangers had crossed the borders of the Elven lands. Haldir took some of the Archers to find the intruders and determine if they were friend or foe. A day later they returned in the company of several other Elves. Some were from Rivendell, with their dark hair, and the others were from Mirkwood, most as blond as the 'Lorien Elves.  
  
"Will I get to see them?" Valariel asked her uncle. "I've never seen other Elves before. At least, none from outside of 'Lorien!"  
  
"Perhaps," said Rumil, "but it will only be a passing look. They are here to take counsel with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and then they will depart. A High Counsel is no place for a child."  
  
Valariel frowned – as close to a pout as you would ever see on her, for her father would not condone sulking – and folded her arms. She did not like to be reminded she was still a child. Well, then, she said to herself, I must make sure I do see these strangers before they leave.  
  
The following day, she strolled through 'Lorien, working her way closer to the buildings where the Lady and Lord dwelled. She moved quickly, but without hurrying, something her father had taught her. It gave the impression of a purpose, but not urgency. Everyone knew she was the Marchwarden's daughter and they all assumed she was supposed to be there. Valariel knew her father would be vexed beyond words if he caught her, but she had no intentions of that. Intentions and reality, however, often differ unexpectedly.  
  
She slipped between two Archer guards as introductions were being finished. "And last in our company is Legolas, son of King Thranduil." The Elf inclined his head respect to Celeborn and Galadriel. He was tall and fair, even for an Elf. He had the sides of his hair caught back in a traditional herringbone braid and as he turned Valariel noticed his brilliant blue eyes.  
  
She couldn't smother a gasp as she saw his face and the small noise brought the attention of everyone in the room to her. Haldir's scowl was dark, but Galadriel's expression was bemused at best, and the Lady of the Wood glanced at Legolas who was now looking Valariel straight on. The Elf prince smiled as the girl stared at him, her eyes huge and her mouth slightly open.  
  
Valariel understood then how a bowstring felt as it quivered after the release of an arrow. Deep inside her somewhere, there was a shout of recognition, an exultation of joy. This Prince of Mirkwood was her feahoon, her spirit heart, her soul mate.  
  
"Valariel!" Haldir's voice brought her back to the present, a cold splash of water and she started. "You should not be here." Her unabashed stare at the Prince of Mirkwood was inappropriate at best and Haldir, ever mindful of decorum when before Galadriel, was appalled. He took her firmly by the arm and walked her away from the group.  
  
"Do not be angry, Father. I was curious…"  
  
"The counsel hall is not a place for children," Haldir said firmly. "And you have made a spectacle of yourself by staring so at Legolas. You have embarrassed yourself, and you have embarrassed me."  
  
"But, Father, he… he…"  
  
"There will be no more of this. You'll return to our dwelling now and remain there until I return."  
  
"Do not be too harsh, Haldir." Galadriel had quietly followed them. "She is only curious."  
  
"I want to stay," Valariel said taking advantage of the moment. "I want to see my feahoon again."  
  
Haldir's grip tightened on her arm. "What did you say? You should not even know that word yet. It is something you cannot understand!" There was an edge to his voice that Valariel had never heard before. "You will NOT call him that again!"  
  
** ** ** **  
  
There's more to come. Hope you enjoy. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers, especially Mercury G. and Evenstar E. Constructive feedback is always welcome! 


	2. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org  
  
Rating: PG  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
Valariel was confounded by her father's vehemence. She looked at Galadriel, and the Lady of the Wood could see the anger, and the argument, bubbling up inside of the youngster.  
  
:This is not a time for arguing, young Valariel: said the Lady's voice inside Valariel's head. :You are a child still. When you reach your maturity all will be different.:  
  
In the long, nearly eternal lives of Elves, natural death was rare. Most who aged long enough found their way to Valinor where death did not matter, did not exist. But those who died by battle or by accident went to dwell with Mandos in his great Hall. Some of these souls would come back, inhabiting new bodies, living new lives. It was said that from time to time two souls would recognize each other from lives they'd lived before, and the bond they formed would be nearly indestructible. They would be mates and lovers regardless of age or gender or any of the other superficial means by which relationships were defined.  
  
"But I…" Valariel looked back towards the group, desperately hoping to see Legolas again. How could he not have seen me? How could he not have reached out for me? She was certain Legolas must have felt the same pull she did. It is because I'm still a child. I've not proven my worth as a mate. The next time I see him, she vowed, there will be no such hesitation.  
  
"No more of this, daughter," said Haldir darkly. "No more."  
  
Haldir gave her to one of the Archers. "See to it that my daughter is delivered back to our home. And see to it that she remains there until I return." He looked down at her. "You and I have much to discuss about obedience when I get home." Valariel hung her head and walked slowly away, her grand plan now in ruins about her.  
  
As his daughter disappeared, Haldir stared at the forest floor, fists clenched, body rigid. Galadriel paused near him, feeling the torment that racked him.  
  
"She does not understand," he growled. "That is not a word to be used lightly or in mirth. For her to even think of naming Legolas as feahoon… She mocks those who have truly found one!"  
  
:Ease your heart, Haldir. Young Valariel did not intend to wound you. She cannot know what happened all those years ago. She knows nothing of your loss.:  
  
Abruptly he straightened and started to walk forward. The Lady's voice still echoed faintly in his head. He paused and gestured, allowing the Lady Galadriel to go before him as courtesy required. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression.   
  
His voice was but a whisper. "She does not understand the depth of feeling that comes if you find a feahoon. Long years pass and none of our people find one. Only a handful have. Mine came too late." He knew Galadriel could see the memory swimming in his troubled eyes.  
  
Many years before Valariel was born, years even before he'd met Runevalas, there had been a battle. After Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand, the Dark Lord's minions had waged losing battles against Elves and Men. After one such battle, Haldir, barely old enough to have attained his rank as an Archer of 'Lorien, wandered the blood-soaked field searching for survivors.  
  
He came upon Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and in his arms a Rivendell Elf. Even from afar, Haldir could see the wounds were fatal. As he got closer, he could hear the voice – her voice – as she spoke.  
  
"You need not linger with me, Lord Elrond, Mandos calls me. There are others who need your aid." She shut her eyes as a stab of pain raced through her.  
  
"May I be of assistance?" asked Haldir.  
  
"Any companionship at a passing is welcome," answered Elrond.  
  
Haldir knelt on the ground, taking the strange Elf's hand in his as she lay cradled in Elrond's arms. Her hair was dark, nearly black, and long, braided in the way of the Eldar. At the touch of his hand, her eyes opened. They were the color of a restless ocean.  
  
The 'Lorien Elf cried out as if an Orc scimitar had been driven through him, but later he would recall nothing of pain. At least not at that moment. What he would recall, and reveal only to Galadriel and Elrond, was the feeling of his very heart and soul being pulled apart as if they were the pages of a book, and the dying Elf before him knew each word written on those pages. And based on the look of shock and wonder on her face, she felt exactly the same.  
  
"Feahoon," they both whispered in the same breath. Elrond knew it to be true. By his physical contact with both of them, he felt the edges of the power that flowed between the two.  
  
"I am Haldir of 'Lorien."  
  
"I am Maranwe."  
  
Maranwe. The Elvish word for "destiny."  
  
Without being asked, Elrond shifted Maranwe's weight towards Haldir and he took it without thinking, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. The veil of his silver-blond hair fell between the two and Elrond, hiding their faces. Haldir kissed Maranwe's forehead and then gently kissed her lips.  
  
Elrond stood quietly, wishing to give them this one moment – this last moment – before Mandos' call would become too great. Other Elves on the field had heard Haldir's cry. Elrond saw them coming and waved them away. He told two of his own to stand guard at a respectful distance and let no one but himself come near to Haldir and Maranwe.  
  
When her spirit finally left, that was when Haldir remembered the pain. A sharper, truer pain he had never felt and for many hundreds of years it never faded. There had been days he feared it wouldn't. Slowly it did, but never disappeared. The feeling of knowing, the instant intimacy, the utter acceptance of everything he was, both dark and light, which he felt with Maranwe would stay with him forever.  
  
Haldir had wondered if he could ever truly care about anything again. That, too, changed when he met Runevalas. She healed the parts of him that were open and raw from losing Maranwe so soon. She was a gentle, quiet soul who could soothe his tempers and allowed him his failings without judging. She was also respectful of his memory of Maranwe, and was never jealous of it. And it was Runevalas who had given Haldir his daughter, and for that he would always love her.  
  
More years rolled away around the Golden Wood as Valariel grew tall and fair. Many remarked how she looked like her father, but she wasn't convinced. She had Haldir's oval face and his proud demeanor, but her cheeks and her nose were entirely Runevalas'. Valariel suspected that it was more her bearing – and behind raised hands some would whisper "arrogance" – that made the resemblance to her father so pronounced.  
  
Valariel, even when she was small, was anxious to begin more formal training with the sword and the bow. She wanted to join the Archers of 'Lorien and serve under her father's command. But year after year she was not allowed into formal training. No young Elf was until they'd reached maturity and brown eyes transformed to blue ones. She watched her friends and age mates all reach their maturity. One day they would be with the children and the next they would be with the adults, their change marked and noted by the change in their eye color. Valariel soon found herself the only one of her age group who had not gone through the change.  
  
"Is there something wrong with her?" Haldir asked Galadriel. "My daughter is close to 1,600 years old now. The others in her age group went through their passages years ago."  
  
"I don't believe there's anything wrong with Valariel," said the Lady of the Wood. "Do not fret so, Haldir."  
  
"But there have been some… Some Elves who never changed. They remain trapped, children in adult bodies. Never to fight, never to wield magic as you do, never to mate… What if my Valariel is trapped thus?" The Marchwarden put a hand up and covered his eyes. Most of this was his concern for Valariel. But part was because he worried how it reflected on him. He was Haldir, the Marchwarden of 'Lorien. Could it be his fate to have a daughter who was less than whole? It was a selfish thought; he knew that, and was ashamed, but it was how he felt.  
  
Galadriel merely watched him with her enigmatic smile. She knew Haldir's heart; there was little in Lothlorien that she did not have some awareness of. He had always been proud, and excelled in all that he did. There were parts of Haldir that were arrogant and even selfish, but she knew how much he loved his daughter, even if he didn't always show it.  
  
"Lady…"  
  
"Haldir, the future is fluid. You know this. What may or may not become of Valariel remains to be seen. You are welcome to look in Galadriel's mirror if you wish to see…"  
  
"Nay," said Haldir quickly. He had no desire to look in the Lady's mirror. It could show the present, and sometimes the past, and then it could show the future. Or, more accurately, a possible future. For all his bravery and bravado, Haldir was afraid to see his daughter's future, afraid the mirror would confirm his worst fears.  
  
Three days after Haldir had sat with the Lady of the Wood, Valariel was walking near the edge of the wood. Near her the merry laughter of children rang through the air.   
  
"I am little but a glorified nanny," she sighed to the trees. "I am adult enough to watch the youngsters, but I am a child to everyone else in 'Lorien. And even as I watch them, I am not alone." She knew somewhere nearby were Archers – today it was her father and uncles. While the woods were safe, the Elves were protective of their children. She carried two large knives with her. They were the one concession to arms training that she was allowed. Her father and both of her uncles had taught her how to use them.  
  
Nearby, three Orcs watched the children. They'd planned this days before. Two stole away, their mission to distract the guards. The last was to take the children. They would be a delectable treat and their disappearance would devastate the Elves.   
  
A whistle from Rumil caught Haldir's attention. His keen eyesight spotted what Rumil had seen… Two Orcs trying to sneak over the borders of 'Lorien. Are the truly that stupid, Haldir wondered. He whistled back, signaling his brothers to follow. For a moment, he looked back over his shoulder. This would take him further from Valariel and the other children. He was their guard today… They'll be fine, he thought to himself and started after the Orcs with his brothers. These idiot Orcs can be handled quickly.  
  
An odd noise turned Valariel. She scanned the edge of the wood. A twig had snapped and she couldn't see where the noise came from. A cold feeling crept up her back. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Then the children started screaming, running towards Valariel as the Orc rose up out of the bushes.  
  
"Run," shouted Valariel. "Run for the woods! Up into the trees! Call for the archers!" The five little ones started to run as Valariel cast a quick glance to the trees. Where were the Archers? Her father could have put an arrow through the Orc's eye in the dead of night. Why had they not taken him?  
  
"No Archers to help you, she-Elf," the Orc cackled. "They're chasing my friends. Once I kill you, I'll track the children down. They won't get far in the woods. They're too little and no one will hear them screaming…"  
  
He raised his saber and moved menacingly towards Valariel, but rather than run, she reached behind her shoulders and pulled the knives out of their sheaths. The Orc hesitated for a moment. Valariel looked young nor was she dressed like a warrior, and then he saw that her eyes were brown. She was just a child. He narrowed his eyes; no half-grown she-Elf was going to scare him away.   
  
"You'll be hurt playing with knives, little girl." He lunged at Valariel.  
  
A distance away, Haldir stopped. There was a sound on the wind. It was a scream.  
  
He was horrified; the Orcs had deceived them. "Rumil! Orophin!" he shouted. "Leave the Orcs to the others. Something's happened to the children!" They raced through the trees as Haldir cursed to himself.   
  
His thoughts were desperate: The children… Valariel…  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
As always, thank you to those of you who have taken the time to email comments on the story (Mercury G: hopefully this gives you some of the info you wanted in your review). I hope you're all enjoying it so far. There's more to come… 


	3. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org  
  
Rating: PG  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
In the clearing, Valariel continued to circle the Orc. She'd darted in a few times, wounding him. He was growing more enraged. Finally, he made one last sweeping lunge, bringing his saber down towards Valariel's head. She ducked and stood up as the blade passed her by. Her opening was there.   
  
She brought her hands up in front of her, crossing them, and slashed down, each blade making a deep cut at the sides of the Orc's throat. Arterial blood erupted, soaking Valariel. She swept one blade across the Orc's belly, finding the weakness between his chest plate and lower armor. Without missing a beat, that same hand swept up, driving the blade of the knife through the soft bottom of the Orc's chin and up into his brain.  
  
Haldir and his brothers had broken from the tree line just in time to see Valariel cut the Orc's throat. They stopped in their tracks, stunned. All three had taught her to fight with a knife, but until that moment they never understood how much she'd learned or how much she'd practiced.  
  
As the Orc's limp corpse fell away, Valariel dropped to one knee, shaking. She could hear her father calling for her but he sounded so far away. Valariel felt cold and then hot as tingling waves raced through her, sparking along all of her nerves. Her eyesight grew blurry and her head swam. A final wave of pain rocked her, and then, as quickly as it came, the odd sensation disappeared.  
  
"Valariel? Daughter?" The concern was evident in Haldir's voice. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No…"  
  
She was facing way from them and the three Elves stared at her back as she started to stand. She looked for a long moment at the dead Orc, and her anger started to rise again. She started to tremble. "He was going to kill the children," she growled. "He thought I would just let him kill me… He thought I was just a child."  
  
She turned and looked at them. From under the blond hair, now stained dark with Orc blood, two sapphire blue eyes blazed out at them. "I am not a child!"  
  
There was no longer any doubt about that.   
  
  
  
Word of the attack and of Valariel's blood-soaked coming of age reached the center of Lothlorien well before they arrived. Rumil and Orophin went ahead with the children, shepherding them to fretting parents. Haldir spent the time simply being with his daughter.  
  
As they came within sight of the buildings and trees that created the heart of the Wood, Haldir spoke softly. "Valariel, I'll make sure there is a spring for you to bathe where you won't be intruded upon. I, myself, will stand guard."  
  
"Thank you, atar father." She looked down at her clothes, now caked with drying, clotted Orc blood. It was on her skin, in her hair. She'd never felt this foul and the chance to wash the stains and the stench from herself was all she wanted.  
  
Haldir caught her elbow and stopped her. "I'm proud of you, Valariel," he said.  
  
She blinked at him and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.  
  
"I wish," he said, "that you'd never had to do that. It isn't something I would wish on anyone, Elf or Man. I would keep you safe always, if I could. Someday you'll perhaps have a child and understand that desire more." He paused and then his chin came up and he tilted his head slightly. "But you took all the lessons I taught you – and some that I didn't, and for that I think I will need to speak to Rumil – and you did not flinch. You did not falter. You handled yourself like a warrior, daughter."  
  
Aside from the knowledge her father loved her, Valariel had never wanted anything other than his praise. For a moment the horror and the fear and the blood were erased under Haldir's words.  
  
The pool was curved and surrounded by flat, smooth stones with thick ivy growing between them. The water bubbled up from a crack in a huge boulder and cascaded down. Heated by Elfin magic, steam wafted up from the rippled silver surface. Valariel had stripped off her clothes and left them with instructions to burn them. They were ruined now. She sank into the water, grateful for the warmth. Elves were rarely cold physically, but the stress of her battle with the Orc and with her own change, left her chilled and tired.  
  
Outside the screen of the trees, Haldir stood – as promised – and guarded his daughter's privacy. The few curious Elves came up, but quickly retreated at the sight of Haldir's stern and unyielding expression.  
  
Valariel leaned back in the water soaking and scrubbing her hair until every last bit of blood and offal disappeared and was swept away by the gentle current in the pool. Looking down at her reflection, she marveled at her eyes. So long they had been that deep, rich brown of childhood. So long she had wished to see a new shade, and now her wish had been granted. Her eyes were a sapphire blue with a darker blue ring around the outside of the iris. Valariel allowed herself a moment of vanity – another trait she had inherited from Haldir – and though how lovely a shade they were.  
  
Then she chuckled to herself and rinsed her hair one last time. She absently looked at the ends of her hair – it was a light blond, nearly a silver blond, just like her father. Vaguely she remembered her mother's hair had been a richer gold. More like Lady Galadriel's or Legolas'.  
  
Legolas.  
  
Valariel had never forgotten the Prince of Mirkwood, but she also never mentioned him again to her father. Often she would dream of him; sometimes she would merely see his face and she wondered if she were seeing what he was doing in some far corner of Middle Earth. Other times they would interact, sometimes quite intimately, and she would wake flushed and warm.  
  
She looked up at the stars as she settled further into the pool's warm embrace. "Now, feahoon," she whispered, "we are both ready. I have but to find you again in this great expanse of Middle Earth."  
  
She spent some time sitting at the edge of the pool, wrapped in a light robe that had been left for her. Finally she stood and left the screening of leaves and ivy. Her father was waiting.  
  
"I wish to begin more formal training," she said. "I have lingered too long in the rosy daybreak of childhood. There is much time to be made up. I would take my place among the Archers of 'Lorien."  
  
Making up time was no idle boast on Valariel's part. Within the week she'd begun her training and she excelled at all tasks, driving herself without mercy and with no tolerance for mistakes. She soon jumped ahead of even her age-mates in skill and ability. Soon Lady Galadriel even asked Valariel to carry messages on behalf of Lothlorien to other parts of Middle Earth.  
  
It was while she was out on an errand for the Lady of the Wood that Legolas returned to Lothlorien in the company of two Men, a Dwarf, and four small people who called themselves Hobbits…  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
I'm glad everyone is enjoying Valariel's story so far. Thank you Romula L., Mercury G. and Evenstar E. for all of the feedback, comments & support. Haldir's Heart & Soul, glad you're liking the story as well. We're about half-way through. Please keep the ideas and suggestions coming! 


	4. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. In this section a portion of dialogue is quoted from the movie for purposes of plot continuity in this fanfiction and was not originally written by me. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org.   
  
Please note, as this is a work of fiction, it is BASED on Tolkien's work. Those of you who are purists will have noticed I've taken some creative liberties with my Elves. Just want you to be aware as you read. Hope you enjoy the story regardless.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
Not long after the Fellowship crossed the border, Haldir and the Archers intercepted them and told them they'd been summoned by the Lady of the Wood. The Marchwarden knew what Frodo concealed in his shirt and was loathe to let them any further into 'Lorien, but Galadriel touched his mind and he bowed to her wishes.  
  
They walked in silence and Haldir glanced briefly at Legolas. To the Marchwarden's eye, the Prince of Mirkwood looked tired, as if the burdens he carried were too heavy even for the shoulders of an Elf, and Haldir wondered what had happened to make him look so. He wondered too, what would have happened if Valariel were in Lothlorien this day, and not on an errand for Galadriel. He'd never forgotten his daughter's words in the forest although she'd never spoken of it again, the memory had ever been vivid for him.   
  
That night there was much conversation and much sorrow. The tale of Gandalf's fall in the deep darkness of Moria chilled them all, and Haldir understood the sorrow he'd seen in Legolas' face. Soon songs of lament drifted through the trees. Haldir had spent some time with Legolas and the others. Aragorn, he knew and respected, for his renown as a warrior was well known. Boromir of Gondor, however, troubled Haldir. Boromir had not been able to meet the gaze of Lady Galadriel. Perhaps her beauty overwhelmed him. Perhaps some other failing troubled the Captain of Gondor. Haldir did not entirely trust him.  
  
Of the Hobbits, Haldir paid them little mind and wished he could pay less to the Dwarf. Stocky and rough, Gimli grated on the Marchwarden's nerves. It had been too easy to overhear the Dwarf as he came into the Golden Wood with his tales of wicked enchantresses. Given leave to do what he would, Haldir would probably have been just as happy to escort Gimli to the tree line and leave him to his fate. But the group, this odd fellowship, seemed to be bound by purpose, and now by grief for Gandalf. The task of splitting their numbers was not Haldir's fate.  
  
In a few days they were gone. Borne away from Lothlorien with the blessings of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn in three Elvish boats that took them swiftly down river, heading south towards Gondor and the paths that would take them to their destiny or their doom in Mordor. Two weeks after they disappeared on the silver river, Valariel returned.  
  
Elrond stood gazing from the arched window down at the courtyard. If you looked quickly, he could have been mistaken for one of the many statues that dotted Rivendell. Arwen, his daughter, looked back over her shoulder once as she rode out of Rivendell towards the ships that would bear her and her people to Valinor, the Undying Lands.  
  
His eyes may have rested on his daughter, but Elrond's mind was far from Rivendell. He had Seen things, Seen them in his waking dreams, and they disturbed him. Then, like the first glow of dawn on the horizon, he felt the presence of the Lady Galadriel in his mind moments before her echoed words drifted to him.  
  
:The power of the Enemy is growing,: she said in a whisper. :Sauron will use the puppet Saruman to destroy the people of Rohan. Isengard has been unleashed. The Eye of Sauron now turns to Gondor, the last free Kingdom of Men. His war on this country will come swiftly. He senses the Ring is close. The strength of the Ring Bearer is failing. In his heart, Frodo begins to understand… The quest will claim his life. You know this. You have ForSeen it.:  
  
Elrond's brow furrowed, but he said nothing.  
  
:It is the risk we all took. In the gathering dark, the will of the Ring grows strong. It works hard now to find its way back into the hands of Men, Men who are so easily seduced by its power. The young Captain of Gondor has but to extend his hand, take the Ring for his own, and the world will fall. The time of the Elves is over. Do we leave Middle Earth to its fate? Do we let them stand alone?:**  
  
:No,: was Elrond's reply. :We cannot, we must not, though it means bringing more death to our race even as we depart for the Undying Lands.:  
  
"You summoned us, Lady Galadriel?" Haldir saluted and bowed at the waist. The Archers of 'Lorien, all standing behind him, did the same.  
  
"Indeed I have. We have the pleasure of Elrond of Rivendell's company here in Lothlorien, and it is Elrond who wishes to speak with you with my blessing and support." She gestured to her side and Elrond stepped forward. The Elven host bowed respectfully to him as well.  
  
"The Elves are leaving Middle Earth," he said. "You all know this. Our time in this land is coming to an end, yet we cannot simply leave it. Our fates are too entwined. Even now, the power of Sauron grows great and dark again. The destruction of the One Ring is the only thing that will save Middle Earth from falling under his dominion."  
  
Galadriel spoke then. "The people of Rohan are trapped in Helm's Deep. A host of Orc and Uruk-hai march from Isengard, bent on the annihilation of Rohan."  
  
The Archers were too well trained to mutter amongst themselves, but faces darkened and frowns deepened at her words.  
  
"We cannot let them stand alone. For centuries, Elves and Men worked together to keep Sauron and his minions contained in Mordor. For centuries, we have lived – and died - side by side. Yet the Lady Galadriel and I would not order you to a battle where so many would die. The siege at Helm's Deep will be bloody. Without help, Rohan will perish. Even with help, there is a great chance that they will be utterly destroyed."  
  
"I will go," said Haldir without hesitation. Galadriel's face softened; she had expected this, but she also feared for Haldir if he went to Helm's Deep.  
  
"I, too, would honor our allegiance with Men," said Valariel, stepping up next to her father. "I will go."  
  
For a moment, Haldir stopped being the Marchwarden of 'Lorien and became Valariel's father. He turned to refuse her, to order her to leave for Valinor. Instead, he came face to face with a haughty, icy stare that dared him to refuse her, dared him to treat her differently before the other Archers – something he had never, ever done. He was vanquished with that look, knowing he'd worn the same one on many, many occasions. Valariel would march to Helm's Deep and he could do nothing to stop it.  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
Thanks again as always to everyone who took the time to review. Mercury G., Evenstar E., Haldir's H&S, I appreciate the consistency. Irith, as I said, sorry that my creative departures from Tolkien's world have lessened your enjoyment of the story. Nevertheless, I appreciate you taking the time to review. Ciao bellas! 


	5. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. In this section a portion of dialogue is quoted from the movie for purposes of plot continuity in this fanfiction and was not originally written by me. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org.   
  
Please note, as this is a work of fiction, it is BASED on Tolkien's work. Those of you who are purists will have noticed I've taken some creative liberties with my Elves. Just want you to be aware as you read. Hope you enjoy the story regardless.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
As the Elven host marched through the gates of Helm's Deep, one Man caught Valariel's attention. A smile radiated out from behind his dark beard that spoke of wonder and of relief. Against a host as large as the Uruk-hai's, Valariel wondered if even the addition of the Elves could save the people of Rohan, but at least their presence had brought hope back to these Men.  
  
She was several rows back but she could hear her father clearly as the Marchwarden spoke to an obviously astonished Theoden.   
  
"I bring a message from Elrond of Rivendell. Once an alliance existed between Men and Elves. Long ago we fought – and died – together." Haldir paused as Aragorn and Legolas appeared on the steps. "We come to honor that allegiance."  
  
"Mae govannen, Haldir," Well met, Haldir. said Aragorn. He gripped the Marchwarden's shoulder in the traditional Elvish greeting and then Aragorn hugged him, as Men did from time to time. Haldir hesitated for a moment, arms outstretched, until he slowly, awkwardly brought his arms in and clapped Aragorn on the back.  
  
"You are most welcome," said Aragorn as he stepped back. Then Legolas greeted the Marchwarden and moved to a step behind him as Haldir drew himself up to his true height. His polished armor flashed in the torch light and his cape, lined with red, spilled from his shoulders.  
  
"We are honored," he said looking at Theoden, "to fight alongside Men once more."  
  
Valariel felt that same tingle run through her when she saw Legolas on the steps but she dropped her eyes, lest he see her in the crowd. As a child, she thought, the feeling near overwhelmed me. Even now, from a distance, I can feel the pull. It will be hard enough to fight knowing he's here, but I will not take his attention from his duty to Aragorn. If we survive the night, we will see what the dawn brings.  
  
The Men of Rohan stared down into the dark. Haldir had placed Valariel's company adjacent to where Theoden would view the battle. She removed her helmet and placed it on the wall. Thunder rumbled. She took a deep breath and could taste the rain on the wind even before the first drops splashed against her cheeks.   
  
On a wall, far across the Keep, Legolas stood in the rain, his blond hair plastered to his head. He had been so proud as the 'Lorien Archers came through the gates of Helm's Deep. His pride had been deeply offended when Theoden had remarked that the Elves wouldn't help, but for respect for Aragorn, he hadn't pressed the fight. And after he had wondered. His people were leaving for the shores of Valinor – there was no guarantee of help. He wondered if he would fight alone.  
  
Unbidden, a memory came back to him of a day long since passed when he ventured to Lothlorien at the behest of his father. It had been only the second time he'd met Haldir and at the meeting a young she-Elf, just a child, had interrupted. She stared at me as if she'd seen a ghost, thought Legolas with a smile. Someone told me she was Haldir's daughter, and he was most upset with her unabashed stare. His smile deepened. I have thought of her often over the years. I wonder what has become of the Marchwarden's daughter, and I wonder what has brought her back to my memory on such a day as this?  
  
  
  
Near Theoden, a few murmurs ran through the Men as they realized the Elf upon the wall was female.  
  
"A she-Elf commands the archers?" they whispered.  
  
Valariel heard them and ignored them, only the slight slide of her eyes to the faces of those who'd spoken betrayed she'd heard them at all.  
  
But Theoden heard them and he frowned as he thought of Eowyn. His proud, angry niece – a Shieldmaiden – was shut away in the caves with the women and children. He'd seen her practice with a sword, and Eowyn was the equal of many of the Men under his command. She would be furious beyond measure if she knew this she-Elf stood upon the walls of the Hornburg, sword at her side, bow in hand. Had he erred by denying Eowyn her request to fight?   
  
No, he thought. With Theodred dead and Eomer leagues away from here she must stay safe. If I fall… If Eomer is dead by some treachery from Grima… Then Eowyn will be Queen. I cannot afford to lose her on the field. But if I survive this war, I will not lock Eowyn away forever. She will truly take her place as a Sheildmaiden of Rohan. That much I vow.  
  
He turned his gaze to Valariel and feeling its weight, she turned to him. She offered Theoden a respectful, if short, bow. He returned it.   
  
Valariel had long since lost track of how many had died on her sword or by her bow. The rolling growl of thunder washed across the field and the Keep momentarily overpowering the clashing swords and the screams of the dying. Then, over the din, Valariel heard Aragorn's voice pulling everyone back into the Keep. From her spot on an upper wall, she brought her bow to bear, covering the stairs as Men and Elves hurried back to what was left of the fortress.  
  
"Haldir!" It was Aragorn who shouted her father's name, and the tenor of his voice chilled her. Her sharp Elven eyes picked out her father's figure as he swayed on his feet. She could tell he was badly injured. And that moment's distraction nearly ended her life as an Uruk-hai charged from her blind side. At the last moment she spun away, sliding one of her knives from its sheath and burying it in the Uruk's gut. The wave of Men retreating to the Keep was too great for her to see anything else. She retreated inside as well, hoping against hope that Aragorn had reached Haldir in time.   
  
"Your name?" Theoden demanded as she turned, coming to stand next to him.  
  
"Valariel of Lorien," she answered.  
  
"Valariel of Lorien, I charge you to go with theses men and guard the doors that lead to the caves. It is where the women and children of Rohan are hidden. Do not let the Uruk-hai reach them."  
  
"Your will be done, Theoden-King," she said. A few words in Elvish came from her mouth and several Elves accompanied her into the fortress.  
  
Some time later, the King's aide, Gamling appeared. "The Uruks are breaking through the door. Theoden King rides out to meet them in one last charge. He has sent word for the women and children to make for the mountains. We cannot hold the enemy back any longer."  
  
"They will be slaughtered in the hills," cried one man.  
  
"And they will not be here?" said Valariel. "At least in the mountains they have a chance. Here they will find only death."  
  
The deep rumbling notes of a bass horn shook the Keep.  
  
"The horn of Helm Hammerhand," said Gamling. "The last ride of Theoden-King has begun."  
  
And so Valariel and the others waited, staring at the door. Waiting for death to come for them. As she drew out her sword, Valariel squared her shoulders.   
  
"Let the Uruk-hai savages come," she said fiercely. "I am ready."  
  
What came instead was a youth, a Rohan lad no more than 12 years old. "Lord Eomer is here! The Rohirrim have come with the wizard, Gandalf, and the Uruk's have fled! We are saved!"  
  
Of the entire host that departed 'Lorien, a full three-quarters died on the walls of Helm's Deep. Valariel looked at the few who remained. Many of them were wounded. She did not see her father – or Legolas – among them, and did not know if she should rejoice or weep.  
  
"Search the field," she said. "If there are any still alive, Elf or Man, bring them to the Keep. Perhaps we can save a few." She turned and headed towards the gaping breach in the outer wall, the last place she'd seen Haldir. As she walked, Valariel heard the gruff voice of the Dwarf who was companion to Aragorn and Legolas. Near him, tall and whole, was the Prince of Mirkwood. Legolas had come through the battle and when she saw him, a small part of her sorrow lifted.  
  
But the joy was short-lived. Moments later, drawn by the shouts of one of the Archers, she found her father. Haldir lay on the ground, the wounds and cuts on his arm dwarfed by the massive gash in his back. There was a small flicker in his eyes as she touched his throat, seeking a pulse.   
  
"He's barely alive. Bring him to the Keep immediately and see to it there is a bed ready."  
  
"He is so far gone." The sorrow in the Archer's voice was deep. "He belongs to Mandos."  
  
"Not yet," she growled. "Not yet. Now bring him to the Keep!"  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
Thanks as always to everyone who has reviewed my work. Haldir's Heart & Soul, don't despair. Trust me. Another chapter will be up soon. 


	6. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org  
  
Rating: PG  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
Haldir was placed on a bed in the Keep. One of the healer-women stanched the wound in his back but it would need more attention if he lived. Aragorn, accompanied by Gandalf, Theoden, Eomer and Eowyn came in. Gandalf raised a hand for silence and they all complied. The Marchwarden looked eerily pale with his eyes staring up. Eomer was convinced he was dead as they all drew closer.   
  
Her hands on his chest, Valariel closed her eyes, allowing her spirit to reach out. She followed the tenuous thread that held Haldir's soul to his body still. She could see her father, but everything in this world was fuzzy, grey. He was a bright beacon in the twilight and beyond him she could see a rosey light, like the very first touch of the sun on clouds the moment before sunrise. The doors to Mandos' Hall.  
  
"You cannot go yet," she said. Everyone in the room looked at her.  
  
"Can the dying Elf truly hear her?" whispered Eowyn.  
  
"I don't know," answered her brother, Eomer.  
  
"He can," said Aragorn. "It is hard to call one of their kin back when the journey to death has begun, but it can be done. It depends on how strong the bond is between those who call. Valariel is Haldir's daughter. If anyone can call him back, she can."  
  
:Father.: Valariel spoke to his mind, his heart. :Do not depart for Mandos' great hall just yet. Please stay here.: It was a daughter's request.  
  
:I am tired, daughter, hinder me no longer.:   
  
:Hinder you?: There was a first note of anger in her voice. "Hinder you? You do not truly wish to go, Haldir of 'Lorien," she said out loud, knowing he could hear her physical voice. "Were you so eager to join Mandos in His Hall, you would have not lingered on as you have. We are not ready to be without you, Father, and you are not ready to go."  
  
:You will not tell me what I do and do not want, Valariel! What is there to come back to? The Archers are devastated. I led them to their deaths; it is only fitting I should join them.:   
  
Valariel changed her approach. Pleading with Haldir had not worked when she was a child and she knew it wouldn't work now. Her voice, instead of growing sad, grew cold, distant… insolent.   
  
"Never, in all my long life," she growled, "did I ever believe I would live to see the Marchwarden of 'Lorien abandon his post willingly. Never did I foresee he would discount his own daughter's love with such expedience. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine he would forsake the safety of the Lady Galadriel to whom he swore an oath to protect."  
  
In an instant, her hands tingled and the twilight faded before a flaring light. She had hit her father in his most sensitive spot – his pride. His spirit rushed back to his body from the in-between world where he had hovered. Abruptly, and much to the shock of those who watched, he grabbed his daughter's wrist with some anger.   
  
"You overstep yourself, Valariel," he snapped. The voice was soft, but there was still some bite in it. "You were ever a cheeky and difficult child."  
  
:Forgive my hard words, Father. I would have said much worse, and dared your most terrifying temper, to keep you here. The Lady still needs you; I still need you.:  
  
Haldir looked up at her and a small smile softened his stern face. "Amin mela lle, a'veryientinu…" I love you, my daring daughter.  
  
"Amin mela lle," she whispered back.  
  
"My Lady," said one of the healer women from the castle. "Please?" She held out her hands, filled with herbs and salves, and Valariel knew she was in the old woman's way.  
  
"You are in the healers' hands now, Marchwarden," she said loudly enough for the room to hear. "Do not make me fetch you back a second time."  
  
"Stay," said Haldir. He did not release her wrist. "Let the healer-woman work if she must, but then I would speak to you. Alone."  
  
"Of course." Valariel looked up at the small group near her. "My Lord Eomer, would you bring word to your King that the Marchwarden has returned and will recover, although it will take much time?"  
  
The small room cleared and Valariel waited for the healer to treat her father. The cut on his arm was salved and bound in clean linen strips. The wound on his back was far more severe. A mere inch to the side and it would have severed his spine. Any deeper and it would have rent his lung.  
  
"You are very lucky," said the old woman. Haldir's expression didn't change as she salved the wound, but Valariel saw the edges of his eyes tighten, and it was only by that small gesture that she could tell how much pain he was in. Before she left, the old woman gave Haldir a steaming mug.  
  
"Drink this," she said. "It will dull the pain." As she left, the healer left orders for the Marchwarden and his daughter to have a few moments together without interruption. He looked at the cup in his hand suspiciously and Valariel slowly raised one eyebrow.   
  
"Do not," she warned, "make me force you to drink it."  
  
Haldir hesitated for one moment more, deciding whether or not she truly meant her threat. In the end, he decided he was in no position to argue with her and downed the bitter brew in one swallow. But as the foul taste disappeared, a warm spot formed in his stomach and started to radiate throughout his body.  
  
"Have you seen Legolas?" asked Haldir.  
  
Valariel flinched. They had not spoken that name since she'd first seen Legolas when she was little.  
  
"Not yet. I thought it best to wait until the battle played out."  
  
Haldir nodded. "Probably wise." He was silent for a long moment. "I did you a disservice, tinu daughter, all those years ago when you called him feahoon. I never told you why I was so angry with you."  
  
"I disobeyed you and I embarrassed you in front of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn." She'd never thought there was another reason for his anger.  
  
Haldir smiled. "Indeed, you did do both of those things, and indeed I was vexed with you."  
  
"Vexed?" Now Valariel laughed. "That is a quaint way of saying it."  
  
"Valariel." Haldir grew serious. "I loved your mother very much. She healed much in me that was hurting. But before I knew Runevalas, I held in my arms – for a mere moment – my own feahoon."  
  
Valariel became very still and focused on her father. She looked like a hawk, intense and bright.  
  
"You…"  
  
"Yes," he said. Then he told her the story of Maranwe and how the only time he was allowed with her was the few moments before she slipped beyond his grasp and into the Halls of Mandos.  
  
"That moment," said Haldir, "was one of the most wonderful and most painful in my life. The feeling of understanding, acceptance… the knowledge that it would turn quickly to love was unlike anything else I've ever known. And to feel that slip away; for her to grow cold in my arms…" His voice was thick with remembered pain.  
  
"Atar…father"  
  
He raised a hand to silence her. "But the pain I felt, that I still feel sometimes in the dark reaches of the night, was worth it. Finding Maranwe, even for those few stolen moments, was worth it."  
  
"I never knew. I was so angry with you for so long," said Valariel. "I thought you didn't understand."  
  
"I know you were. You were so young. Too young to speak of a feahoon. You didn't understand what that word really means. Even now, you don't fully understand and you won't until you bond." He sighed as the medicine drew him down towards sleep. "Go find Legolas, Valariel. I doubt he felt the pull before because you were a child, but if you truly are feahoon, he will feel it now. You both came through Helm's Deep unscarred, do not waste any more time."  
  
She rose and then hesitated, her eyes drifting to the bandages on Haldir's injuries.  
  
"I will be here when you return," he said. "Now go or I shall order you from my presence."  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
As always, thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review. Looking forward to more feedback! 


	7. The Sword of 'Lorien, Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Outside, Valariel went to the wall and looked down with her father's words swimming through her mind. She stopped suddenly and leaned against the wall, and odd feeling washing over her. For a moment she felt cold, and her hands became sweaty.   
  
"Are you well?" asked Legolas from behind her.  
  
Valariel shut her eyes. "I am," she answered, "but I am still spent from the battle."  
  
"You are Haldir's daughter, Valariel? I saw you once, many years ago; I don't know if you remember me…"  
  
"I do remember you, Legolas Greenleaf," she said, her eyes still on the horizon.  
  
"You stared at me so boldly when you were young, yet you will not face me now?" There was curiosity in the question.  
  
Because I am afraid, thought Valariel, finally naming the coldness that had frozen her at the wall. Because I have desired this meeting so greatly. What will I do if I'm wrong? "I fear I embarrassed you all those years ago with my impertinence," she answered. "And I spoke boldly – perhaps rashly – to my father when he took me home. I am… afraid." The word was hard for her to say.  
  
"Afraid? Of me?"  
  
"Afraid of being too proud. Afraid of being wrong. Afraid of what you will think of me if I am."  
  
Legolas was completely confounded. "Valariel, I don't understand…"  
  
She turned from the wall and met his gaze, and the Prince of Mirkwood stopped speaking. Never had he been so captured by a pair of eyes. Never had he seen so much of himself reflected within them. And Valariel felt it too, much the way her father described. While he didn't know the details, the specific facts, Legolas understood her. Understood all she had gone through, all of her successes and all of her fears.  
  
Without speaking, Legolas reached out and put his arms around Valariel, pulling her close to him. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady drum-beat of his heart. For his part, Legolas still marveled at how such a gaping hole in his heart could have existed without him knowing it for so long, a hole that Valariel now utterly and completely filled.  
  
:Fea…:  
  
:...hoon.: She finished the thought he began.  
  
Up in the Keep proper, Eowyn looked down at them. "Yes, Marchwarden, I can see your daughter…"  
  
"Tell me," Haldir said, fighting the lassitude of sleep. "Tell me, is she alone?"  
  
"No," said Eowyn slowly. "The Elf who traveled with Lord Aragorn is with her. He holds your daughter in his arms."  
  
"Good." Haldir's voice was firm and final, and Eowyn smiled. She hadn't been sure how Haldir would react when she revealed what she saw. But the Marchwarden appeared pleased and she was glad of that.  
  
"I have one other request, Lady Eowyn," said Haldir.  
  
"But my Lord, you must rest and regain your strength."  
  
"I will have plenty of time to rest later." Haldir's voice bordered on gruff. "I must speak with Aragorn before this medicine sets me to sleep. Please, Lady, it is very important."  
  
An hour later, as day was rapidly coming to dusk, Aragorn found Legolas and Valariel still walking the field, looking for the wounded.  
  
"Come, mellon friend," said Aragorn to Legolas, "you must rest. Both of you. We will leave Helm's Deep within two days." He ducked his head respectfully to Valariel. "It is an honor to meet you, Valariel of 'Lorien. Cormlle naa tanya tel'raa your heart is that of the lion."  
  
She smiled at the complement, wondering if Aragorn knew that one of Haldir's nicknames for her when she was growing up was ravenne, or lioness in the tongues of Man. As they came back to the Keep, Aragorn led them down a side hall and up some stairs to a circular room with a window that faced the west.  
  
It was well appointed considering the haste with which Theoden's people had left Edoras. There were furs on the floor to keep the cold at bay. A large bed was between the window and a large fireplace that graced the opposite wall. There was a small basket of fruit and a pitcher with cold water.  
  
Both Valariel and Legolas were startled; they had expected to be brought to a chamber that would fit many, with nothing more than simple reed mats to sleep upon.  
  
"Aragorn?" Puzzlement filled Legolas' voice.  
  
"It was made up for you at Haldir's request. He did not give specific reasons, but I learned much while I dwelled in Rivendell." He gestured at the bundles of branches and leaves that adorned the wall above the bed. "I know you would both probably prefer the deep golds of the woods of 'Lorien or the green heart of Mirkwood to complete your bond…" He let the rest remain unspoken and Legolas gripped his shoulder in a gesture of friendship.  
  
Aragorn, as he turned to close the door behind him, smiled at them and said, "I'll see to it that you are not disturbed. Quel kaima sleep well." The door made a dull thud as he shut it, and, in the silence of the room, the two Elves stared at each other for a moment.  
  
"Lle naa vanima, You are beautiful." said Legolas, reaching out to touch Valariel's cheek.  
  
"Lle naa i'mela en' coiamin, You are the love of my life." replied Valariel. "I named you feahoon as a child, before I understood what it meant. I just knew in the deepest reaches of my heart…"  
  
Together, they went to the bed and lay back while Legolas wrapped Valariel in his arms again. "For now, sleep," he said for they were both exhausted from the battle. "I will hold you while you sleep and be here when you wake. There will be time then to confirm our bond."  
  
"Quel kaima," she said, drifting to sleep even as she spoke.  
  
:Quel kaima, lirimaen,: Sleep well, lovely one. answered Legolas.  
  
Far into the night, Valariel stirred and found herself looking into Legolas' eyes. She smiled and touched his lips with her fingers.  
  
"I thought I'd dreamed everything…"  
  
"Then we are both in the most wonderful dream."  
  
She leaned up on an elbow and looked down at Legolas as he lay on the bed. A bright beam of moonlight poured through the window, bathing the room in a silver glow. He marveled at how silver her hair looked in this light; it was nearly as silver as fine polished mithril. He reached up and gently pulled her head down to his, kissing her softly on the lips. He would waste no more of the cool moonlight.   
  
The early hours of the morning found Valariel and Legolas both attending council with Gandalf, Aragorn, and Theoden-King when a disruption at the door distracted them all.  
  
"My Lord! My Lord, please! You mustn't be walking around. You're still very ill…" Every eye in the room turned to the door as Haldir slowly, painfully crossed the floor to the table where the maps were laid out. The healer woman hovered and fretted around him looking like a sparrow whose chick had fallen from the nest. Theoden glanced at Valariel's frown and caught her eye. With a silent nod, he gave her leave to handle her father.  
  
"Your concern is noted, healer," she said. "Rest assured, I myself, will see that my father returns to his bed in short order." Valariel knew better than to try and remove him from the counsel immediately, but did not hid her displeasure towards her father in her voice. The healer retreated quickly from the room, intimidated by the Kings and Lords all assembled in the hall.  
  
"Never again tax me on my obstinacy when it is so apparent from which parent I inherited that trait." Her voice was pointed. Haldir met her stare and raised his chin. To the amusement of the rest of the room, the glares that Haldir and Valariel leveled at each other were identical, but no one chose to comment on the observation.  
  
"In any event," said Gandalf, breaking the stalemate, "we will move out tomorrow. Sauron will be stung by this loss and I fear his wrath will be directed at Gondor. Without that land, we are sorely weakened."  
  
Discussion continued for the better part of an hour as plans were discussed, discarded, and reinvented. As the conversation diminished, Haldir finally spoke.  
  
"Those Archers who are left will travel with you," he said, "as will I."  
  
"You will not."  
  
"Valariel…"  
  
"You will not."  
  
"Long has it been known that Elves heal more quickly than Men," said Gandalf thoughtfully, "but your wounds are so great Haldir, I do not think it wise that you travel such a hard road so soon."  
  
"I pledged myself to a duty," growled Haldir. "I will see it done!"  
  
"And so you shall," said Valariel, "through me. I will go with the Archers to whatever end we find in Gondor. I will be the sword of 'Lorien on the field. You must return to 'Lorien and grow strong. You are the Lady Galadriel's shield, Marchwarden, and I would not leave her undefended as she leaves these shores for Valinor… would you?" She understood his pride and his honor and gave him a way to keep both without recklessly jeopardizing himself in the coming battle.  
  
Haldir was silent. He had made a pledge to Elrond when he volunteered to lead the Archers to Helm's Deep. But he'd sworn a deeper oath to Galadriel and Celeborn many, many years ago when he became Marchwarden of Lothlorien. His first duty was to 'Lorien and to them.  
  
"If that will satisfy Theoden-King, then I will abide by that," answered Haldir slowly, not entirely happy with his choices.  
  
"I would be most satisfied, Marchwarden," said the King. "And there are a number of your people who are too injured to fight but well enough to return home. They will need you on their journey."  
  
"Very well," said Haldir. Then he looked at Legolas who had been standing, silent, near Valariel for the entire conversation. "You would do well to learn now that there is no use arguing with your feahoon. You will find she can be most unreasonable at times… unlike her father." A slight smile crossed Legolas' face, but he said nothing.  
  
Valariel folded her arms across her chest. "Now will you return to your rest or must I carry you?"  
  
Well, that's all at least for now. Hope you enjoyed the tale of Haldir's daughter. I had quite a bit of fun writing it. Thank you very much to all my reviewers, especially Mercury Gray, Evenstar Elanor, Haldir's Heart & Soul, and Anolinde. At some point in the future (sooner rather than later) I hope to update some of these chapters based on your feedback. Ciao, bellas! 


End file.
